“When’d you say you fucked your sister?” Luther said. “Answer up.” Luther gave him a little shake, and Petey screamed out. Luther shook him again.
“No, don’, don’!” Petey said. “Tonight. Last night.”
Luther dropped him and as he came down swung the shotgun against Petey’s ribs. It didn’t seem to hit hard, but Petey rolled when he hit. Luther sat the gun against my car. He picked Petey up by his collar and his belt and carried him to the patrol car. He dropped him, opened the rear door, then picked Petey up and threw him bodily in. The car shook when Petey hit the opposite door. Luther closed the door and came back. Despite his bullethead he had long legs. He was back in two seconds. They both stood in front of me. Violence still rippled. Petey was gone. Four stone eyes looked at me. I was backed against my car.
“Are you sure you’re even a boy?” E. Paul asked.
I could almost feel Luther’s iron knuckles closing on my ear.
“Why do you want to talk to me?” I said. “You don’t have to play games. If you’re going to beat me just do it.”
“We ain’t got much to do,” E. Paul said. “Don’t nothing that looks like you drive into our part of the country ever’ day. We got to make the most out of it. We ain’t gonna take no fairy like you to one of these here nice jails we got in South Texas. We got decent criminals in our jails. We ain’t gonna put no pervert in with ’em. You do suck dicks, don’t you?”
“No,” I said.
“Yes you do,” Luther said.
I felt sick and nervous and strangely passive. They were going to hit me sooner or later, no matter what I said. There was no backing any farther than I had already backed. I didn’t want to, anyway. Hatred of them was in me. It wasn’t dominant. Fear was dominant. But hatred was there.
“No, I don’t suck dicks,” I said. “I never even heard of such a thing. How’d you officers happen to hear about it?”
E. Paul stiffened. “He’s shittin’ us, Luther,” he said.
“He ain’t gonna shit me,” Luther said. “I’ll ream out his goddamn ass for him.”
Luther moved. I started to duck, but instead of grabbing my ear he hit me with the shotgun. Not on the head, on my leg, right at the thigh. It went numb. I saw the gun swinging again and I was down. I could see under El Chevy. Oil was dripping onto the short grass of the shoulder. Then hands grabbed my hair, hands grabbed my feet. I was wrenched, I thought my neck would twist off. I was lifted. Luther had my hair, E. Paul had my feet. I tried to grab Luther’s wrist but he hit my hand. He only had one hand in my hair. They were carrying me. My eyes flooded. My scalp was tearing. The sky swung above me. We were in a ditch. They began to swing me. My neck wrenched again. I was swinging. Then flying. I had no idea what to do. My wrist hit something. I was over a fence. I hit the earth and rolled. A huge prickly pear bush was over me. I hit it and stopped. Guns went off. Chunks of prickly pear flew over me. Thorns flew. The Rangers were shooting up the prickly pear. The shots were horribly loud and bullets hit right above me. I was squeezed against the thorns. I looked and saw Luther leveling the shotgun. Whow Whow Whow! Prickly pear flew, showering down. I cowered under the bush. I heard loud laughter. The two Rangers were leaning on the barbed-wire fence. E. Paul had a pistol in his hand. Luther ejected a shell from the shotgun. I was trembling terribly. They were laughing. I saw them stroll to the patrol car, perfectly cheerful and casual and happy, like athletes who have just won a game. They chatted. E. Paul holstered his pistol. They got in the car, turned, drove away. Petey wasn’t even visible.
A thorn had gone deep into my elbow. I had hundreds of little fuzz thorns in my neck and they were stinging. The fuzz thorns were all over me. I got up and limped to the fence. I noticed a gash in one arm. It was bleeding a lot. My arm must have hit the fence when they slung me over it. One of my legs would barely work. I got through the fence and across the road. I remembered Petey’s face, when it had looked like his skin would rip. Now his life was ripped, because of me. He might be years seeing another fourteen-year-old. It was sickening, the hurts I had caused accidentally, but I was too tired to be sick or even to cry. I drove. My left leg was too sore even to work the brake. I drove with one foot. I couldn’t begin to get the thorns out of my arms and neck. They were tiny thorns, and I was shaking. I drove and drove, feeling like a coward. Waves of hatred and regret swept over me. The encounter had taken me by surprise, but even if I had had days to prepare for it I don’t know how much more courage I could have managed. I drove. I went past orange groves. I was in the Valley. The sun was lower. In McAllen I stopped and asked an old man about a hospital. He told me where to go and I found it. The Rio Grande was only six miles away. It was a white hospital. The nurse at the desk looked at me as if I was crazy. I think I was, a little. Fortunately she was a kindly nurse.
“Well, we’re gonna get the stickers out of you and fix that cut,” she said.
“Yes ma’am,” I said. I followed the nurse down a hall. There was a room with several nurses in it. They looked shocked to see me.
“What’d you do, fall right in the middle of a patch of prickly pear?” one asked.
“No ma’am. Some Texas Rangers threw me in it, because of my hair.”
“My lord,” she said. “Stretch out here on this table.” She looked at my arm and clicked her tongue.
“How long since you had a tetanus shot?” she asked. I had no idea. I shut my eyes. It was a great relief to find someone with a sense of what to do. My own had left me.
“No need to ask him,” an old nurse said. “He can’t make good sense, he’s too tuckered out. Just give him one.”
“Thank you,” I said. It seemed like a great blessing, not having to try and talk, or remember, or explain. Hands moved my arm, a palm felt my forehead, but I didn’t open my eyes. The nurses knew what to do. I left the world for the darkness behind my eyelids. All I heard was the murmurings of nurses. I didn’t have to worry. The thorns were being drawn from me. “Don’t them Rangers beat anything?” a voice said. I didn’t care. I didn’t have to think. I stayed behind my eyelids, in a deep deep peace.
18
THE PEACE didn’t last long. A nurse woke me up to ask me if I could afford a room, or what kind. They had the thorns out and my arm bandaged. It wasn’t the nurse’s fault about the peace. It hadn’t lasted anyway. I began to remember Petey, and to feel worried and nervous. Images flickered in the darkness. I was just as glad to be awakened. Sleep was knotting me up again. I sat up. I didn’t want to stay in the hospital. I couldn’t really imagine being stopped all night.
When I paid the nurses for what they had done, I noticed my money. I really had plenty. I also had thousands in San Francisco. Money was worth something. Before I left the hospital I went to a pay phone and called Godwin.
“Why Danny,” he said. “Nice to hear you, my boy. How is Sally?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I need your help.”
I told him about Petey. Godwin listened. It seemed to me he would be the best person to help. He had more know-how than Flap or Jenny or anybody I knew.
“I’ll send you five thousand dollars,” I said. “Do you think you can get him off for that? If not, I’ll send you ten thousand.”
“Hum,” Godwin said. He seemed very calm.
“How’s Geoffrey?” I asked.
“You broke his hip,” Godwin said. “He swears vengeance. I’ve had a delicious time nursing him, though. I’ve an idea you oughtn’t to come to Austin.”
“I hadn’t planned to,” I said. “Will you try to help Petey?”
“Of course,” he said. “What jail is it? Kingsville?”
“Kingsville.”
“Where will you be?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I have no plans.”
“I do sympathize,” Godwin said. “For years I led a planless life.”
He wished me good luck. The Valley sky was deep purple. I went to a drugstore and bought some envelopes and stamps and mailed Godwin a
check for five thousand dollars. I didn’t want to get tired and forget it.
But I had stopped being tired. When I walked back to El Chevy after mailing the letter I wasn’t very tired at all. I was more lonely. The Valley night was soft and warm, warmer than the Austin night. I would have liked to be walking in it, with somebody. There just wasn’t any prospect of anybody, up any of the roads I might drive. I sat in the car on the street of McAllen, watching the other cars go by. I didn’t know why I was so alone. I had never really felt quite so alone. The one hope in all the world was Jill, and she was hard to predict. Conceivably she might want to see me. If she did I could start looking for an airplane. I would have somewhere to go.
I went to a phone booth and called New York. Maybe she wasn’t still there. But she was. She was still registered at the Hotel Pierre. She was even in her room. When I heard her soft quick voice my heart pounded. My chest filled. I could hardly speak I was so relieved. I said hello.
“Danny,” she said. “Where are you?”
“On the Mexican border. I’ve been meaning to call for days.”
“Why is your voice cracked?”
“I’m pretty tired,” I said. “I haven’t been sleeping well.”
“Tell me,” she said. “I’ve been worried.”
She sounded like she had been worried. She sounded right, like she knew me and liked me. For a minute I had been afraid she would just be wary.
I told her. She listened. Across the thousands of miles I could imagine her face as she was listening. It was a great relief to talk to her. I told her so several times.
“Stop saying that,” she said.
When I had told her everything, we were silent. Jill sighed.
“I’ve never known anybody who could screw up as bad as you do,” she said.
I had no answer for that. “What are you doing?” I asked. I had said enough about me.
Jill sighed again. “Oh, Danny,” she said. “I don’t want to say it.”
“Why? Say what?”
“I’m going to Europe next week,” she said, very low. “Carl was in New York when I got here. I may marry him. I think I may be what he needs.”
I felt horribly, terribly awkward. What I really wanted was to be off the phone.
“So you see I can’t save you,” she said. “I know exactly how lonely you are. I know exactly how wonderful you are, too. But I can’t even try and help you. I’ve promised to go try and help Carl.”
“Okay,” I said.
“I’m going to hang up,” she said. “I can’t stand to hear you. I’m sorry. I’m just not strong enough to try and talk.”
“It’s all right,” I said. “Thanks for everything.”
“I didn’t do anything,” she said.
The silence after the call was a new condition. There had been silence, and then there had been Jill’s voice for a few minutes, and now there was silence again. Only there wouldn’t ever be any more of Jill’s voice. There would only be silence. People were dropping away from me. I might as well have been in space. I felt like I was in space. I was walking on the earth, but I wasn’t walking on it like the other people on the streets of McAllen. I was somewhere else, in a silence.
I decided to go to Reynosa. It was a whorehouse town, just across the river. I didn’t feel like driving very far. I didn’t feel like whoring, either, but I could sit in Reynosa and drink, or something. There would be a lot of college kids around, whoring. The Valley had beautiful night skies. Purple sky, stars over the palm trees, soft, warm air. Ordinarily I would have been happy just being in the Valley.
At the border I parked El Chevy and got a Mexican taxi. My taxi driver was a fat Mexican who talked about Stan Musial. He wanted to know if I had seen him play. I was forced to admit I hadn’t.
“Stan the Man,” he said. “He is great ball player. I have seen him play. You should see him play sometimes.”
“I’ll try,” I said.
I sat in the same whorehouse for two hours. I drank enough tequila that the whores even quit pushing it. Every girl in the house came over to feel me up—or all but one. Most of them were young and many of them had their hair dyed red. I didn’t want to screw anybody. I just drank and listened to the jukebox. Lots of Anglo college kids were there, bragging about their cocksmanship. They looked at me askance. I looked at them askance right back. The one whore who didn’t feel me up was the only one I would have been interested in, if I had been there to whore. She was an older woman, for a whore—dark-haired and maybe twenty-five. Lots of kids were pestering her. She looked half-contemptuous and half-sorrowful. She didn’t play the usual games. She didn’t giggle and feel boys up. I came to like her. She only went off with boys who dropped all pretense and insisted. She came and went several times, and I got drunk.
Finally a gang of Aggies came in and began to pester the dark-haired whore. About six of them clustered around her. She sneered at them. They pestered. She was very attractive. I had watched her long enough to want her. Besides, I was feeling chivalric. I didn’t like Aggies. They would just grow up to be Texas Rangers, probably. I got up and went over. When the woman looked at me I smiled and held up some money. I had a good bit in my hand. I smiled again and nodded. She looked at me again, solemnly, and then got off her bar stool. The Aggies all looked around. They didn’t like my looks at all.
“What the fuck,” one said. “We seen her first.”
I merely waited for the woman to thread her way through them.
“What the fuck,” the lead Aggie said again. He had short sandy hair and he looked belligerent. I didn’t care. I had had lots of tequila and besides I had already had my scare for the day. No Aggie or combination of Aggies was going to scare me.
“Big idea?” another one said. He had just realized what was happening. He was drunk and didn’t enunciate very clearly.
“Why don’t you farm boys go fuck a tractor,” I said, and walked off with the whore. The Aggies were nonplused. I think they considered me insane.
The whore took me behind the bar, to an open courtyard. Rooms opened off the courtyard. Hers was an ordinary little whore’s room. Cheap bed, cheap dresser, two or three dresses hanging on a nail. A color picture of two grinning Mexican children, undoubtedly hers. A pitcher and a basin. A dressing table with a cheap mirror. I was wondering why I had done it. I had seen such rooms before, and I didn’t need the depression I usually took away from them.
The woman was friendly enough, but reserved. We made no small talk. Her reserve was part sadness and part dignity. It was the dignity of her face that had made her stand out among the teen-age whores. Most of the others were not even old enough to have been disappointed. The woman I was with had been. But there was no bitterness in her reserve. She was just keeping something of herself for herself. Her underwear was cheap. She had a lovely body still, just beginning to show in the abdomen and thighs the falling off there would be in the next few years. Her breasts were beautiful, neither nubile nor fallen, and her skin was a little olive, only faintly. It made me think I might like Italy, where I had been told women were that way. I passed my examination and we got on the bed. The lady composed herself and I felt odd. I wanted to screw her but at the same time I felt wrong about it. Not wrong enough to stop but wrong enough to make me enter as gently as I could. I knew it would have to be depressing, having the hard organs of strangers jammed into one, time after time, day after day, week after week. She seemed a nice woman and though I wanted her I didn’t want to increase the difficulties of her life. I entered gently and came quickly. Soon I withdrew. I sat on the edge of the cheap bed. The dark-haired whore sat beside me a moment. She looked at me.
“You gotta wife?” she asked.
I shook my head no. I didn’t have a wife.
The bed squeaked when she got up. She went over to the little basin and squatted to wash herself. “Too bad,” she said, looking at me for a moment as she was cleaning herself. “You are a good man.”
“Thank you,”
I said.
I could not have told her how grateful I was. She wasn’t my friend, she didn’t love me, she wasn’t the whore-with-the-heart-of-gold pouring out sympathy. There had been no sympathy in her remark. A woman of some experience had passed a practical judgment, while cleaning herself. Someone appreciated something about me. In my whole life I had never felt so certain that I was more or less a good man. She cleaned me and got into her cheap underwear and cheap dress and we walked back through the warm Valley night, without saying much more. Her name was Juanita. The Aggies were still in the bar, at a table with several young whores. They left us both alone. Juanita and I parted with respectful looks.
But I couldn’t leave it at that. I tried. I meant to. I just couldn’t. I got a taxi and went back across the border to El Chevy and drove to McAllen. Then I got very lonely again. I had it vaguely in mind that I would drive to Roma and look up the old actor that Petey knew. He ran an all-night filling station, so he would probably be up. But while I was driving through McAllen I changed my mind. I was too lonesome to go see an eccentric. I knew too many eccentrics as it was. I needed someone normal, for a while. If I didn’t get someone normal for a little while I knew I would never get anyone normal, for any length of while. I was right on an edge. I couldn’t get lonelier and stranger than I was or I would never stand a chance of getting back where the normal people were.
Juanita was my best hope. I would go see her again. It would only cost twenty bucks, and it might change everything. Maybe she didn’t have anything going in her life. Maybe she wanted to quit whoring and come to America. It wouldn’t hurt to see. I went back to the border and got the same taxi and had the same conversation about Stan Musial. It didn’t bother me. Inside I was imagining how Jill and Emma and Jenny would all scream and tear their hair with vexation if they knew I was about to ask a Mexican whore I had just met to come to America and live with me. It would confirm their worst fears about my impulsiveness. I couldn’t help it. Jill and Emma and Jenny weren’t going to help me. I would have to help myself. I liked Juanita. There was no one else who might want to live with me.
All My Friends Are Going to Be Strangers Page 24